Out of Control
by anne-writes
Summary: Draco and Hermione, after DH. Set at a nightclub, but not tacky, I promise. Melancholy but sweet. One-Shot.


Based on _Out of Control_, by She Wants Revenge.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was something of a nightclub aficionado. He knew everything about the club scene in London, knew where (in both Muggle and Wizarding downtowns) to find the best drinks, the loudest music, the most secluded VIP areas, and, of course, the most beautiful girls.

It was the latter that he had left the Manor for tonight. His father had fled after Voldemort's downfall, and his mother floated around the mansion with a detachment that warranted comment even by the normally unflappable Hermione Granger, coming around for a very awkward dinner party he had thrown the night before, attempting to bridge the gap between the Houses. The Gryffindors weren't going out of their way to mend anything, feeling as though they had been victorious in the House war. But Malfoy was left with a determination to atone for his sins, compensating for the terror that he and his father had enabled.

The party had been all but a bust, with only accusing glares and comments whispered behind hands breaking the uncomfortable silence that lay across the table. And everyone had left quickly after the desert course, anxious to leave and get back to his or her own little world. All, that is, except a bemused Hermione who was resting her chin on her hand and looking at the doorway through which the lot had fled.

"You'd think they'd want to culminate their efforts during the war and work toward peace," she said quietly from her seat on the left side of the table, a few seats down. He was, of course, at the head, but he had positioned Harry Potter at the other end in an attempt at geographic equality as well.

She glanced back at him. He shrugged.

"I expected as much, really. You can bring a unicorn to water, but you can't make him drink."

She nodded slowly, before standing. He quickly followed suit, chivalrous out of habit.

"Would you like any help with anything?"

He shook his head. "No, the house-elves…" he replied, trailing off awkwardly when he dimly remembered her championing some house-elf equality cause.

She brushed it off with a slight wave of her hand. "That's okay, I'm starting to reconsider my stance on that. It is what they want. Perhaps just some sort of form that they can submit to the Ministry if they're being abused or they want their freedom. I'm working on it."

He nodded as well, and watched her as she departed, waving slightly when she reached the doorframe.

Had it occurred to him, he would have been frustrated about his party and the blockheaded dimwits who comprised their graduating class. But as it was, his thoughts were otherwise occupied, and so he poured himself a large glass of red wine and retired to his rooms.

* * *

But the flop of a party was the reason he had left his house, seeking the heat and anonymity of a dark dance floor, and perhaps also the heat and anonymity of a woman as well. Everything was so melancholy in his life, nothing was good, and he felt purposeless, drifting through the day without knowing where he was going or who he was.

He glanced up from his thoughts and glass of whiskey to see a shadowy girl looking his way from across the room. She wore a short dress and sky-high heels, the sole of one heel braced against the wall behind her as she leaned back against the stucco. She was with two other girls, but neither drew his attention so well as the first.

He leaned forward in his seat, watching her, and she glanced back his way once more, meeting his gaze. Though he couldn't see her eyes, he could feel them, boring into his own.

Before he realized it, he had stood, and was weaving across the packed dance floor. She probably wanted to wind down with her friends, was, in all likelihood, having a girl's night out away from her medical student fiancé. But he couldn't stop his feet from continuing their purposeful, winding stride across the room.

When he reached her, he ran a hand through his loose hair, brushing the white-blond strands behind his ear.

"Dance with me," he murmured in her ear, noticing her brown curls and the pale curve of her neck.

She turned, and one of her friends giggled while the other just stood there slightly open-mouthed. Wait, he knew that face… that face was engaged to Harry Potter, and had been one of the ruder guests the night before.

But he was distracted when his girl turned toward him, with a flip of her curls and a half-smile, she looked up at him through dark, sooty lashes, hazel eyes framed by deep purple shadow.

"Hello, Draco," she said, and his heart stopped for a moment. Hermione.

Funny, though, that the thought giving him the most scare wasn't that he didn't want it to be her—it was that he didn't want her to think that he picked up girls often. Of course, he did. He just didn't want her to know. He wanted her to think highly of him.

Just as he was trying to puzzle out why, her body suddenly pressed against his own, and his hands automatically came up to her hips, squeezing the flesh underneath through the soft silk of her bronze shift. She let out a startled squeak and glared at her friend (the non-Ginny one) who was giggling again, and had apparently pushed her into him. She started to step back, but he tightened his hands on her hips.

He bent to press his cheekbone against hers and whispered low in her ear, his breath tickling her cheek.

"Dance with me."

* * *

She nodded, and he needed no further encouragement. Taking her drink from her and setting it on the bar, he pulled her out to the centre of the dancing, away from Ginny and the giggling (albeit helpful) dimwit.

Pulling her close against him, her back to his front, he tugged her hips back against his and ground slowly against her, enjoying her startled gasp and the way she arched back into his chest. She reached her hand up and wrapped it around the back of his neck, pulling his face down beside hers and allotting him a delicious view of the proceedings.

The music changed, and he felt rather than saw her smile.

"This is one of my favorite songs!" she said, turning and smiling at him, dancing forgotten momentarily. But he hadn't, and he reached for her again, pulling her close, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her lower back. She reached up and wrapped those gorgeous arms around his neck, looking at him for a long moment before delving a hand into his hair and tugging him down to meet her lips.

His breath caught in the back of his throat, and his heart hurtled to the bottom of his stomach as he kissed her back, groaning low into her lips. He bit at her lower lip, then sucked the sting away, before opening her mouth beneath his own and exploring the wonder that was Granger's hot little mouth with his tongue.

Their hips were still swaying slightly, but most dancing was forgotten as they kissed hungrily, devouring each other, eyes shut tightly.

After a long, hot few minutes, he pulled back reluctantly, hands wrapped around her hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles on her lower stomach.

"Come home with me," he growled more than said, forgetting himself as he looked at her swollen lips and half-lidded gaze.

She frowned slightly, moving away from him, but he pulled her back.

"Please. I mean, will you please come home with me," he said, realizing his presumption.

She nodded slowly, but pulled away.

"I have to tell my friends," she said, looking up at him. He nodded quickly.

"I'll meet you at the door?" he asked, and she gave a quick wave as she walked away.

* * *

He stood by the door, letting the crisp autumn air cool his heated skin, watching her as she said goodbye to her friends. Ginny appeared to be protesting, but the other girl (Draco really was beginning to like her) pushed her toward the door with a laugh. Hermione grinned and waved goodbye as she pressed through the throngs of people.

There was something about her smile when she didn't know he was watching, something about knowing that she was happy, really _happy_ to be leaving with him that sent a throb of heat to his stomach, his heart skipping a beat.

She reached him, reaching for his hand with a smile, and he pulled her outside with him, out to the street, and they Apparated away.

They arrived at his front door, and he was kissing her again because it had been far too long since they were on the dance floor and he was craving her again, as though she were some sort of Muggle drug. She kissed him back, fiercely, meeting each push of his hips with her own, running her hands up his stomach under his Oxford shirt, feeling the line of blond hair that ran from his navel to the waistband of his boxers.

Bending over was too much effort, so he lifted her easily, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He fumbled for the door handle, but luckily the ruckus had caused a sleepy house-elf to pull open the door. He stepped past him, navigating neatly around the old elf. When Hermione saw who had opened the door, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, blushing. When they reached the staircase he set her down and grabbed her hand, pulling her after him, barely glancing back at her.

They finally reached his room in the far West wing, and he kicked open the door and turned back to her, kissing her swiftly before tugging her inside and shutting the door.

They managed to fall into his bed, clothes shedding like second skins, until they were wonderfully naked together on his emerald comforter, fingers exploring and eliciting sharp gasps and moans that just fueled the fire even more.

He was braced on his hands over her, hard beyond imagination, and his brain function was rapidly approaching zero as his animal instincts took over. _It's never been like this_ was the last thing that ran through his mind before she bent her knees and lifted her hips. He plunged forward, curled low over her, lips meeting hers in a kiss that was more bumping teeth and sloppy lips that anything, before dropping his mouth to her collarbone, her breasts, her neck, all the while thrusting his length into her delicious heat, feeling her heart beating fast beneath his lips.

* * *

Much later, when silver rays of dawn light were prickling at his eyelids, he awoke, and looked down at the warm puddle of skin and curly hair that was wound up in his limbs, preventing him from any movement if he wanted to avoid waking her.

He froze. Why would he want to avoid waking her? Usually, he jostled about so much that the girl woke up too, and he cunningly managed to get her to think leaving had been her idea in the first place. Then he could go back to sleep in peace, dreaming about faceless bodies and nameless lovers.

But now… he wanted her to sleep. He wanted to wake up with her, late in the morning, and eat breakfast, and keep her here with him until… until something. Until he wasn't so tired and he didn't hurt so badly anymore.

* * *

She stirred, and he quickly lay back down, wrapping his body around her, a stinging tear prickling at the corner of his eye.

Hermione stretched, feeling cramped and confined, held in place by four strong, pale limbs.

Sitting up on her elbows, she looked down at Draco, his face softened in sleep, his lips parted and his breathing slow.

She watched him until he stirred, opened his eyes, and sat up as well.

They just sat there and looked at one another for a moment, before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, his hands wrapping around the base of her skull.

He pulled back after a long minute, looking at her in a way that no one had ever looked at her before. But this was Draco Malfoy, womanizer since fourth year, and this was doubtless all an act.

She untangled her naked body from the sheets and from him, climbing out of bed and hunting around for her wand and clothes. A quick flick of her wrist transformed her short dress into a more demure day frock, and her absurd heels back into the sandals they had begun as.

Pulling on her clothes, she hazarded a glance back at Draco, who was sitting in the middle of his bed with such a lost expression on his face that she paused before putting on her shoes, turning back to him.

"Was that nothing?" he asked quietly, and she could hear how close his voice was to cracking.

She shook her head, unable to stop her body from betraying her and telling him the truth. But he didn't see her, his eyes still focused on her forgotten shoes.

"No, it wasn't nothing," she said softly. "Was it something to you?"

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Why?" she asked, praying that he wouldn't give her some stock answer that he told to all the rest.

"I… I don't know. But it did. And… I want you to stay. For breakfast."

"Okay."

"For as long as you want. With me," he added, looking at her standing there.

She smiled stupidly, standing at the foot of his bed, makeup smudged and hair a mess.

"Okay."


End file.
